


Counterclockwise

by Aifsaath



Series: Counterclockwise [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Anakin isn't the sole mess, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Melida/Daan, Padawan Obi-Wan, Poor Obi-Wan, Time Travel, Young Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 19:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12895557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aifsaath/pseuds/Aifsaath
Summary: Only now, far above the planet the world made sense. Back in the Temple he was lost. A boy with no name and no history.A Padawan with no Master. A castaway stranded in the past.He had a purpose now.Get to Melida/Daan.Find Obi-Wan.Bring the bloody idiot back before he got himself killed.





	Counterclockwise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icse/gifts).



“We’re launching in three…”

Anakin’s hand was shaking, as he gripped the controller; his knuckles almost turning white, sweat covered his left palm, the right one awkwardly scratched across the surface. _Breathe in. Breathe out._ Don’t dwell on your fear, Master Obi-Wan used to say, as if it was so easy. But he was not there, not anymore.

“Two…”

 _Master_. Anakin forced himself to focus, blinking away tears. There was no time for that. Qui-Gon Jinn entered the final sequence into the navicomp.

“One.”

Engines roared flaring up. Hundreds of tons of steel set into motion. Behind the hangar gates he saw only the starless indigo of Coruscanti sky. The ship took off, flashed through the hangar, flew above the roofs of the city, leaving the cacophonic life behind. Higher and higher. Acceleration rushed blood into fingertips. For a few seconds, his vision went black from the pressure change. But it did not matter. He could fly the ship even blind, with one hand strapped behind his back.

Only now, far above the planet the world made sense. Back in the Temple he was lost. A boy with no name and no history. A Padawan with no Master. A castaway stranded in the past.

He had a purpose now.

Get to Melida/Daan.

Find Obi-Wan.

Bring the bloody idiot back before he got himself killed.

. . .

Ever since Anakin had woken up the other day in the Halls of Healing, eighteen years in the past; ever since the Council had explained what had happened to him – and he had thrown up and fainted when they had told him – he had grasped in desperation at the few people whom he trusted across time.

Anakin had attempted to contact Qui-Gon but with no avail; the Master had been kept busy on a long-term mission to Velmor. And Obi-Wan had been _gone, gone, gone_. Too many times he had tried to reach his Master through their bond. But on the other end he had found only echoes of his own mind. There was no Master Kenobi in this strange universe. Obi-Wan Kenobi was only seventeen. A stranger and a renegade.

_“The Order the boy left. Principles of the Jedi he abandoned.”_

There were of course rumours. _Obi-Wan Kenobi joined the civil war on Melida/Daan. Obi-Wan Kenobi turned in his lightsabre and never looked back. Obi-Wan Kenobi betrayed the Order. Obi-Wan Kenobi Fell. Obi-Wan Kenobi died._

Anakin had no idea what the truth was. Obi-Wan never shared his history. Anything Anakin had learned about his Master’s past he had had to put together from shards stolen from eavesdropped conversations, from the rare mementos Obi-Wan had kept in their quarters, the little clues hidden in his smiles, in the people he had been friends with – or in the people he used to be friends.

But no one had ever mentioned anything about Melida/Daan.

Master Plo had taken him under his wing. For the following weeks, he had been the most patient, gentle teacher Anakin could ask for, and even though Plo could never understand his grief, he had allowed him to come to terms with the loss in his own way.

(“You must understand, young one, that there is a great possibility you will never return.”)

Five weeks after the accident that had brought him to this time Master Plo had announced Anakin had been to serve Master Jinn as a pilot on his way to Melida/Daan.

. . .

The ship entered the surreal glow of the hyperspace. At last, Anakin could let go of the controls. It felt as if he peeled the skin off his palms. Tremors returned to his left hand as unease flooded his veins once again. His right arm, cold and mechanical and dead. Closing his eyes, he leaned back in his seat; only now he noticed the sheen of sweat covering his brow. He wiped it off, the motion jerking and uncoordinated.

“I was told you were an experienced pilot,” Qui-Gon said. The familiar crow’s feet already stretched around his eyes–  Anakin remembered his first impression of him: _This nice man laughs a lot_. But he could not put a finger on what was so different about his face. “Is this your first flight?”

“No, Master. I _know_ how to fly. I’m just- “

“Scared?” Something bittersweet lurked in the man’s smile. Anakin recalled that soft quirk of his lips; he had worn it right before they had set on their journey to Naboo, a few days before his death. And then that smile had been erased forever the very moment Obi-Wan had walked out of the hangar into the blinding light of the day, cradling his lifeless body in his arms, his face pale and blank. “What are you afraid of, Padawan?”

 _Everything_ was the answer but Anakin could not tell him that. He opened his mouth, he was suffocating, the truth tasting bitter on the tip of his tongue; only waiting to slip. That he had fallen back in time. That he was the youngest of his line. That Obi-Wan would return to the Order. That Qui-Gon had saved him – but not his mother, _never_ his mother –  and died. That they both missed him so much it hurt. That there was not a day he did not remember him with the wistful longing for a father.

“I’m not scared, Master Jinn.”

“I can’t quite believe that.”

He offered him a weak smile.

“I know how to fly. I’ve passed through this route hundreds of times.”

“And yet you look now like a drenched tooka.”

He wanted to confess, and wished for a reassurance that everything would be alright. He needed to hear Qui-Gon’s calm voice telling him to focus on here and now. He would understand. He would know what to do.

(But Anakin had promised Windu, Yoda and Plo he would keep his circumstance secret.)

“Heh, do I?” His voice sounded too strained even to himself. “My master used to say the same.”

“Well, your Master was right. You _do_ bear uncanny resemblance to a wet feline,” Qui-Gon said. And then, as if he realized a detail that had escaped his attention before, he gave Anakin a curious look.

“You wear our _djenna._ ”

 _Djenna_. Every line of Jedi had one. The token of belonging to each other. The mark of generations of apprentices. The only way a Jedi expressed the sentiment closest to what a real family was.

Centuries ago, when Yoda had accepted his first student, he cut their hair short leaving only the nerftail and the braid. It was the humblest of marks. It did not accentuate beauty, nor it boasted pride of one’s blood heritage. And yet, years came and passed and Yoda’s line bore still the same _djenna_.

(Everyone hated the hideous haircut and Anakin submitted to it only because he wanted to look like a real Padawan.)

“I’m a part of Yoda’s line. Or…” He gulped. “Well, I used to be. My master died and Master Plo took over. He was so kind he allowed me to keep this _djenna_ as a keepsake.”

“That was… very kind of him,” Qui-Gon murmured. He reached to touch the tip of Anakin’s braid. “I didn’t know our branch had another young leaf.” There was something achingly parental in the gesture. (Mom used to do that. She touched his braid. _Ani, is that you?_ She asked and then she did not breathe anymore, cut to pieces, pale and so light in his arms and – and he had to _stop thinking_.) “Nor did I know our branch lost another one.” A last touch, a slight tug before he tucked his hands back in his sleeves.

“It was a secret mission. If I could tell you anything, I would…”

“But it’s classified.”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

Qui-Gon turned back to the transparisteel, shadows playing over his face. “Mind the ship, Anakin.” His voice sounded hollow. The conversation was over.

_. . ._

Three days passed before they reached Melida/Daan. Qui-Gon kept mostly to himself meditating in his cabin, leaving Anakin alone on the bridge to steer the ship through the hyperspace. If they met, it was only during the mealtime. Anakin tried to draw the man into a conversation – he would welcome any topic, really – but the closer they got to their destination, the more closed off Qui-Gon became.

Surrounded by nothing but the blinking machinery, starlight dusting the never-ending void and his own mind. He was going to go mad for sure.

 _Stop being dramatic,_ Master Obi-Wan would have said. _You have never been a paragon of sanity to begin with._

. . .

From the high orbit, Melida/Daan looked like any other terraformed planet. Unremarkable, with snow caps covering the poles, banks of clouds moving lazily around the coasts and raging above the seas. Blue oceans, green plains and forests, ochre deserts. Dots of light glistening across the nightside. Nothing to bear witness to the reports about the civil war atrocities.

As soon as they entered the medium orbit the communicator started buzzing.

_“Blue Crescent station Yirt-Zerek-Besh-Three-Oh-Five calling. You’re entering the planetary no-fly zone. Please identify yourself and state the reason of your presence.”_

“Jedi Order asks for the permission for landing,” Qui-Gon answered. “We’re sending you the ID sequence. We’ve come on your request regarding a member of the Order in the holding of the native forces.”

Anakin froze. No one had told him that Obi-Wan had been captured.

_“ID confirmed. Permission to land on the coordinates provided is given. ETA one hour.”_

Fuck.

_Fuck._

“Anakin?”

Not him too.

Not like mom.

“Anakin, are you listening?”

No.

_No._

“Anakin!”

He blinked. Once. Twice. Qui-Gon’s face loomed over his and Anakin realized with a distinct feel of disbelief that his nose was a lot straighter than he remembered. He felt the warm touch of the Force, surrounding him, attempting to calm him down. Like a blanket suffocating flame. Irritated, he shook it – _him –_ off. What gave Qui-Gon the right to do something so intimate?

“Sorry. I’m good. Really.”

“This is the second time you’ve dozed off, Anakin.”

That was rich coming from him, the boy thought bitterly. It was not Anakin who kept hiding in his cabin the entire time just to avoid the possibility of a talk about Obi-Wan. It was not _him_ who for some unknown reason left his own _Padawan_ on a war-torn planet.

Again, the boy looked at Qui-Gon. _What happened_ , he wondered.

Anakin did not doubt that if it were him who was stranded on a hostile planet, Obi-Wan would spend most of the travel time composing a long speech about braindead risk-taking idiots, unleashing the tirade the very first moment Anakin was safe. (The longer the speech the more he was frightened. Once, Anakin had managed to freak out Obi-Wan into a two-hour long lecture after he had pulled a dangerous aerobatic manoeuvre that had nearly ended up in a disaster if it were not for his sheer dumb luck. _“Force sensitive or not, when the ship explodes it means shit, you imbecile!”_ Obi-Wan’s voice still rang in Anakin’s ears and it hurt, _hurt, hurt._ ) But that would never happen. Obi-Wan did not even want to allow him a solo mission to Naboo, let alone to leave him anywhere on his own for more than a week.

“It won’t happen again.”

Anakin manoeuvred the ship towards the equator. The landing coordinates pointed to the location nearby the largest bay on _Daania_ continent.

He run his fingers across the keyboard, entering series of landing commands. To lower the power of the drive in, to up the shields to protect them from the overheating as they enter the atmosphere. Slow pressure change.

After he finished the task, he allowed himself another look from the viewport. They were close enough to see the craters left by heavy bombings that had left the land scarred. What used to be towns was empty now, with no signs of life. No light. Blackened stains in the middle of jungle.

“What happened to that mountain range? North of that river? It… it looks like a huge chunk of it is _missing._ It can’t be right, can it?”

“You mean Orovissa mountains?” Qui-Gon frowned. “The war has been raging on this planet for centuries. Orovissa happened to be the hiding place of third faction armies fifty years ago. And the easiest way to deal with them was to carpet bomb the whole area.”

The knight paused. His face was unreadable, mind hidden behind the shields. But Anakin noticed the way his fingers trembled as he reached to the transparisteel as if he longed to caress a lost reflection.

“It’s only thanks to the Republic’s forces seizing the ship supplying plutonium to both of the warring sides that there is any planet left.”

 _And I’ve left my Padawan in that madness_ hung in the air, unsaid _._

. . .

The landing was unremarkable.

Hot, humid air bore the scent of sea and ash and pine trees. Sun was setting – the east side drowned in deep indigo, the west played with the shades of blinding yellow and red. Birds chirping to the hum of the sea. A group of Blue Crescents approached the ship. They came from the camp a few hundred meters further up north from the landing platform.

Where Jedi acted as diplomats and special units, Blue Crescents provided the basic healthcare and manpower necessary to rebuild the infrastructure. Their military department served as a buffer between warring sides, often supporting Jedi in their peacekeeping missions, as the Order had not yet hold any army of their own.

In Anakin’s time, Blue Crescents had been long disbanded after series of sentient trafficking scandals. The tarnished reputation had been impossible to improve. _Never again_ , the media had sworn and despite numerous attempts there had never been reinstated any organisation with such overarching influence as Blue Crescents had been. Instead, all the Galaxy had turned to Jedi with their pleas for help. It had not mattered that they had been already stretched thin. It had not mattered that they had no resources necessary for solving anything without the Senate’s direct support.

Nothing had mattered in the end and the Senate had given them soldiers to command and sent them to war anyway.

And here they stood, five years before Blue Crescent’s fall from grace. Anakin could not decide between disgust or relief.

“Commander Rina Omaya,” the middle-aged Zabrak woman saluted.  “I’ve been informed about your arrival, master…?”

“Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“Am I right to assume you’re the legal guardian of the Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“I am… I was his Master, yes.”

“Was?” She pursed her lips. “Has the Order made all the legal steps of expelling the boy?”

“As far as I know, not yet.”

“Good. Because what we need to do wouldn’t be possible otherwise. Shall we, Master Jedi?”

As they walked towards the camp, Commander Omaya seized the moment to introduce Qui-Gon to the current situation. Perhaps in any other time Anakin would have paid attention to their conversation – but not _now_ , not when he could stretch his senses and feel the familiar presence in the distance.

A candle in a winter night. A Naboo firefly. A lighthouse in a sea of misery. Lost in the crowds of people, almost unrecognizable among all their fear and pain, but Anakin would know him anywhere.

The refugee camp extended few clicks in diameter, surrounding the Crescent’s military base. Both Melida and Daan had their outposts set next to the base. Soldiers – Blues and the local forces – entwined through the masses, blasters ready in hands. Provisional shelters were crammed with people. Vehicles crossed the narrow paths, filling the air with dust and racket. Everyone was talking; the cacophony echoed in Anakin’s ears making him nauseous. Someone walked past him, their shoulders brushed, and his nostrils were filled with the stench of sweat and piss.

Everyone was hungry and afraid, and he could not tear himself from the phantom sensations of their suffering.

This was not a place for a Jedi.

“We’ve been here just for a month,” he heard Commander Omaya’s voice as if he were under water. “There have been five or six attacks so far. The situation is still… not fully under control. Please, sit down.” She pointed to the set of a field table and stools. “We need to talk, Master Jedi. Meanwhile, my aides will bring Kenobi.”

Both Jedi lowered onto their seats. Two of Omaya’s companions disappeared in the Daan base. Commander handed Master Jinn a datapad.

“Do you have any idea why we contacted you, Master Jinn?”

“You’ve got a hold on my former Padawan and you want to know the Order’s stance on his actions.”

“You’re almost right. No, I think I know that young Kenobi’s actions aren’t viewed… favourably in the eyes of Jedi. The boy is rather convinced that the Order will refuse to help him.” She frowned. “He asked me to keep any information about him away from your Order. Something about _shame._ ”

“Why did you refuse?”

“Because what Kenobi asks for is a pointless suicide. Both sides want his head. If it weren’t for the fact that we’ve seized the control over the planet, he’d have been executed.” Exhausted, she run her hand down her face, wiping off the sheen of sweat. “He’s not even eighteen. According to the Coruscanti law he’s a minor. And even then – we can’t allow Melida nor Daan to use him as a scapegoat. Not when it’s thanks to his group that we could bring at least some kind of order into this shithole… Everything is in his file. We need you only to reclaim your custody and get him away.”

Qui-Gon was about to reply when something else caught his attention. Anakin turned around to see.

The two aides were back, joined by a few Daan soldiers. And in the middle of blue and grey uniforms stood out the dirty beige of prison wear. Obi-Wan walked with his head held high, seemingly ignoring the shackles on his limbs, the Force supressing collar around his throat.

The last time Anakin had seen his Master, he had been a man in the peak of his health. Obi-Wan had never been a large man, but he had always been strong. Wide shoulders and lean muscles, firm thighs and calves. He had not tanned easily, but his skin had always born the healthy, reddish tint. Full cheeks and dimples. His face had been made for a smile.

Nothing prepared Anakin for the sight of seventeen-year-old version of the man. Clothes hung from the thin frame; he had a few centimetres still to grow and twenty kilos to gain. His lip was broken and still bleeding. Shadows set under his eyes. Cheeks hollow. Auburn hair reached to his chin, matted and unkept. No Padawan braid. Anakin muttered a curse when he noticed the burns covering Obi-Wan’s forearms and hands.

“You came back.” His voice was almost drowned in the camp noise. Hopeful. Scared. Hysterical.

Obi-Wan’s eyes roved between Qui-Gon, whose face resembled more a mask than a living flesh, and Anakin. What he saw visibly distressed him, as he turned even more pale, steps faltering. One of the soldiers pushed him into the empty seat, nearly tripping him over.

“Obi-Wan.”

“Master Jinn.”

Anakin knew that careful, blank expression and did not like it one bit.

“So, Master Jinn,” said Omaya. “Will you take him back to the Order?”

“I need to read his file first.”

Everyone kept silent, as Qui-Gon flipped through the pages, eyes skirting over the text. Anakin sensed Obi-Wan’s anxiety rise and seep into the air and through the skin into his own brain. He felt like storm, a hurricane, empty in the middle. Raw wound. It almost hurt to be so near him, only an arm length away, just a touch to make sure he _existed_. He was his brother, his friend, the only guidance in the last ten years of his life, and he _hurt hurt hurt._

Qui-Gon turned off the datapad.

“Is there anything else I need to know?” He sounded so tired.  “Any evidence? Witnesses?”

“As I said, everything is in his file.” Omaya folded her hands neatly on her chest. “Of course, feel free to ask for anything else. It’ll be provided, if we can.”

“Do you want to add anything to defend yourself, Obi-Wan?”

“What is there left to say?” Obi-Wan said, the ugly emptiness never leaving his eyes. “You’ve already decided.”

“Force may mercy on you, boy, don’t you realize what you’ve done?”

“Better than you.”

“Please, take this seriously, Padawan.”

“I’m no Padawan, Master Jinn, or have you forgotten? No one brought shame on the name of the Order. Because there was no member of the Order. Isn’t this what you want to ensure?”

“I’m not joking, you fool. What you’re accused of- “

“I did what I had to do!” Obi-Wan snapped. “I _stayed_ when you washed your hands and left! Yes, I fought in a guerrilla! And you _knew I had to do that, you knew what the risks were!_ We weren’t a party of murderers you want to paint us like. We were trying to get the civilians out of the crossfire! Half of the Young died! I had to bury a five-year-old child who had starved to death and there was nothing, nothing to do! Does the file mention that?”

“It does, actually,” Qui-Gon said. “There is also a mention of a factory you and your friends blew up. Is that true?”

“It is.” Obi-Wan spat. He was out to hurt his master. “The factory in Sirasenna. The largest producer chemical weaponry of mass impact on Melida’s side. Most of the workers were prisoners of war. And we blew it up.”

Anakin blinked. Qui-Gon went paper-white.

“You… There were people inside… You fool…”

“Master Jinn, I have to ask you to please not- “Omaya attempted to dissuade the tension but she was too late.

“AND I TRIED TO GET THEM OUT!” Obi-Wan roared. “You’ve got no idea what it was like! You weren’t there. None of you. But they – Melida locked the gates… There was no way to help or to stop the fire…” He started hyperventilating.

“Obi-Wan, calm down!”

“I won’t! I won’t!” The boy was screaming now. “How dare you come here and accuse me of what you had no guts to do?! You gave up! I did what I had to do to save as many- “ He choked up. He looked as if he was just about to vomit.

“Jedi are no soldiers. This was not your fight!”

“Enough!” Omaya pounded on the desk. “The prisoner needs a medical attention. Take him to the medics.”

The Daan soldiers grabbed Obi-Wan by his arms. There was no gentleness in the motion, no care for the wounds. That was _it_. He could not watch this anymore, he decided and stood up.

“I’ll go with him.”

“This isn’t the Order’s matter,” the soldier said. “Until your Master gives the word, Kenobi is still our prisoner. And the protocol says that he’s still in our full custody. So, step aside, Jedi.”

Perhaps the man was trying to intimidate him. Perhaps a few months ago that would have worked. But Anakin had faced _Dooku_ and survived. The petty asshole in a uniform was nothing compared to that.

“Yeah. And as far as I know, the Republic law forbids torturing prisoners. And I recognize a fresh burn when I see one.”

“You have no authority here,” the soldier straightened his back.

But Qui-Gon had a different idea.

“Can the Padawan oversee Obi-Wan’s treatment as a neutral party, Commander Omaya?”

“Yes,” the Commander said. “And he should. Meanwhile, let’s discuss the situation, Master Jedi.”

. . .

It took a mind trick with a stronger intent lurking behind to push the soldiers out of the office and wait behind the closed door. Obi-Wan’s torso played with every colour. The medic’s hands were quick, as he checked for bruising and welts, and applied bacta all over them.

Anakin wanted to cry.

The first weeks of his life in the Temple had been marked with a frantic need to learn everything. About the strange new world he had been casted into. The customs alien and exhilarating. Knowledge of the Force, ancient and tasting of secrets and might.

But the most important thing for a child to know was the young man whose hands took care of him. Anakin-the-child had seen numerous times his Master’s bare back. Pale skin with a net of long-healed silver scars, scattered like letters on parchment. A book he could not read until now.

He longed for a touch. To wrap his arms around the half-familiar boy just to make sure he was real. That it was truly a physical reality, not a mirage he wished into existence.

The doctor excused himself. He was needed elsewhere. Anakin nodded in understanding. They could wait. Obi-Wan did not bother to cover himself. He sat there in the chair, slumped.

“I’m sorry for the argument outside.”

It was the first time he spoke to Anakin.

“You shouldn’t let my disagreement with Master Jinn affect your apprenticeship. I’m sorry. Truly.”

Anakin eyed him, curiously. And then it dawned on him, he was such a fool. No wonder Obi-Wan thought _that_ , when he paraded around with the _djenna_ he himself had worn only a short time ago. Just to rub salt in the wound.

“I’m a part of Yoda’s line, but my Master was someone else.”

“Oh.” Something broke in him, in them both. “He – he didn’t…”

“Obi-Wan, he wouldn’t betray you like that-“

That was the wrong thing to say as Obi-Wan curled even more into himself. Seconds passed in utter silence until Obi-Wan drew a sharp breath. Anakin watched him trying to fight back the sobs – and lose the battle.

“I don’t want to go back,” Obi-Wan whispered. “I can’t go back. I betrayed everyone. I did horrible things. I can’t return into the Temple and look in their eyes. Nothing clean is left in me.”

Anakin forced himself to move. He knelt before his master. He hated feeling so powerless. Therefore, he did what Padmé had done for him that horrible day on Tatooine, when _he_ had been full of filth, inside out.

Embracing him was awkward at first, as Obi-Wan’s whole body stiffened at once. But slowly, when Anakin opened himself, to let his own warmth seep into him, he melted in his arms.

“Cry it out,” Anakin whispered. “I’ve got you.”

They had precious few minutes of privacy. Obi-Wan held onto him like a lifeline. Nails digging into the flesh and steel as he cried his heart out. Anakin muffled the sounds with his clothes. Obi-Wan deserved at least to keep his dignity.

“You’ll be alright. It seems impossible now, but you’ll be alright …”

It sounded like a lie to both. But it helped, at least for the moment. And then the doors opened and the soldiers marched in.

“You never told me your name.”

“Anakin.”

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to thank everyone who suffered in silence my monologues about this AU. Those brave Star Wars fans are the true heroes of this story.
> 
> Thank you,[ **Icse**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icse/pseuds/Icse), for the kind pointing into the right direction and for... you know:D
> 
> For anyone interested: [**HERE**](http://aifsaath.tumblr.com/search/counterclockwise) you can find all the snippets and illustrations :)


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